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6.
AUTHOR’S NOTEIf you’re new to the Morganville Vampires series, welcome! And sorry, because it’s Book 11, and you may be kicking yourself right about now, but don’t worry.I’ll catch you up quickly once you start to read. For those faithful Morganville Residents who’ve been with me the whole way, I’m tryingsomething new this time—an extension of what I started in Book 10, Bite Club. So in the pages of LastBreath, you’ll venture out of Claire’s point of view (the typical way the other Morganville novels havebeen told), although you’ll stay with her for the majority of this book as well. But you’ll get to viewthe story from a few other important perspectives: those of Amelie, Shane, Michael, and Eve. So just make sure to look at the header at the top of each chapter to know from whose perspectiveyou’re about to read. Each point of view comes with its own chapter. Thank you for coming along on the ride, and I hope you enjoy Last Breath! And yes . . . there is a Book 12. And no, I won’t tell you what happens. Yet.

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INTRODUCTIONWELCOME TO MORGANVILLE. You must be new here. That’s fine; we welcome new blood to ourtown . . . but you need to know the rules. Don’t stay out after dark. Don’t break our laws. And,whatever you do, don’t get on the bad side of the vampires. Yes, vampires—we said it and we meant it. They’re everywhere in this town . . . and they’re thepeople you’d least suspect. But most of them just want to live their lives in peace. Oh, there are a fewtroublemakers—aren’t there always?—but Morganville is all about harmony and cooperation.Theoretically. You’ll probably need to find yourself a vampire Protector. That means one who’ll ensure the safetyof you and your family, for the low, low price of a percentage of your income and regular donations atthe blood bank in his or her name. If you don’t want to go with a Protector, well, it’s your funeral. Some have done it, sure. But mostaren’t around to endorse the practice, if you get my drift. Talk to the residents of the Glass House:Claire, Shane, Michael, and Eve. They’ll tell you all about your chances of survival. And remember: welcome to Morganville! You’ll never want to leave. And even if you want to . . . well, you can’t. Sorry about that.

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ONE CLAIREShane’s lips felt like velvet against the nape of her neck, and Claire shivered in delight as his breathwarmed the skin there. She leaned back against him with a sigh. Her boyfriend’s body felt solid andsafe, and his arms went around her, wrapping her in comfort. He was taller than she was, so he had tobend to rest his chin on her shoulder and whisper, “You sure about this?” Claire nodded. “You got the overdue notice, didn’t you? It’s this or they come to collect. You don’twant that.” “Well, you don’t have to be here,” he pointed out—not for the first time today. “Don’t you haveclasses?” “Not today,” she said. “I had an oh-my-God a.m. lab, but now I’m all done.” “Okay, then, you don’t have to do this because you’re tax-exempt.” B y tax-exempt, he meant that she didn’t have to pay . . . in blood. Taxes in Morganville werecollected three ways: the polite way, via the collection center downtown, or the not-so-polite way,when the Bloodmobile showed up like a sleek black shark at your front door, with Men in Black—style “technicians” to ensure you did your civic duty. The third way was by force, in the dark, when you ventured out un-Protected and got bitten. Vampires. A total pain in the neck—literally. Shane was entirely right: Claire had a legal document that said she was free from the responsibilityof donations. The popular wisdom—and it wasn’t wrong—was that she’d already given enough bloodto Morganville. Of course, so had Shane . . . but he hadn’t always been on the vampires’ side, at the time. “I know I don’t have to do it,” she said. “I want to. I’ll go with.” “In case you’re worried, I’m not girly-scared or anything.” “Hey!” She smacked his arm. “I’m a girl. What exactly are you saying? That I’m not brave orsomething?” “Eeek,” Shane said. “Nothing. Right, Amazon princess. I get the point.” Claire turned in his arms and kissed him, a sweet burst of heat as their lips met. The lovely joy ofthat released a burst of bubbles inside her, bubbles full of happiness. God, she loved this. Loved him.It had been a rough year, and he’d . . . stumbled, was the best way she could think of it. Shane had darkstreaks, and he’d struggled with them. Was still struggling. But he’d worked so hard to make it up—not just to her, but to everyone he felt he’d let down.Michael, his best (vampire) friend. Eve, his other (nonvampire) best friend (and Claire’s best friend,too). Even Claire’s parents had gotten genuine attention: he’d gone with her to see them twice, withexit permission from the vampires, and he’d been earnest and steady even under her father’s sterncross-examination. He wanted to be different. She knew that. When the kiss finally ended, Shane had a drugged, vague look in his eyes, and he seemed to havetrouble letting go of her. “You know,” he said, moving her hair back from her cheek with a big, warm

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hand, “we could just blow this off and go home instead of letting them suck our blood. Try ittomorrow.” “Bloodmobile,” she reminded him. “People holding you down. You really want that?” He shuddered. “Hell, no. Okay, right, after you.” They were standing on the sidewalk ofMorganville’s blood bank, with its big cheerful blood-drop character sign and scrupulously cleanpublic entrance. Claire pecked him lightly on the cheek, escaped before he could pull her close again,and pushed the door open. Inside, the place looked like they’d given it a makeover—more brightly, warmly lit than the lasttime she’d been in, and the new furniture looked comfortable and homey. They’d even installed a tankfull of colorful tropical fish flitting around living coral. Nice. Clearly, the vampires were trying to putforth their best efforts to reassure the human community, for a change. The lady sitting behind the counter looked up and smiled. She was human, and sort of motherly, andshe pulled Claire’s records and raised her thin, graying eyebrows. “Oh,” she said. “You know, you’reentirely paid up for the year. There’s no need—” “It’s voluntary,” Claire said. “Is that okay?” “Voluntary?” The woman repeated the word as if it were something from a foreign language.“Well, I suppose . . .” She shook her head, clearly thinking Claire was mental, and turned her smile onShane. “And you, honey?” “Collins,” he said. “Shane Collins.” She pulled out his card, and up went the eyebrows again. “You are definitely not paid up, Mr.Collins. In fact, you’re sixty days behind. Again.” “I’ve been busy.” He didn’t crack a smile. Neither did she. She stamped his card, wrote something on it, and returned it to the file, then handed them both slipsof paper. “Through the door,” she said. “Do you want to be in the room together or separately?” “Together,” they chorused, and looked at each other. Claire couldn’t help a bit of a smirk, andShane rolled his eyes. “She’s kind of a coward,” he said. “Faints at the sight of blood.” “Oh, please,” Claire said with a sigh. “That does describe one of us, though.” The receptionist, for all her motherly looks, clearly wasn’t sympathetic. “Fine,” she said briskly.“Second door on the right. There are two chairs in there. I’ll get an attendant for you.” “Yeah, about that . . . Could you get us a human?” Shane asked. “It creeps me out when a guy’sdraining my blood and I hear his stomach rumble.” Claire punched him in the arm this time, an unmistakable shut up, and gave the receptionist a sunnysmile as she dragged him toward the door that had been indicated. “Really,” she said to him, “would itbe that hard just to not say anything?” “Kinda.” He shrugged, then opened the door and held it for her. “Ladies first.” “I’m really starting to think you are a scaredy-cat.” “No, I’m just flawlessly polite.” He gave her a sideways glance, and with a curious seriousness said,“I’d go first in any fight, for you.” Shane had always been someone who best expressed love by being protective, but now it wasdeliberate, a way for him to make up for how he’d let his anger and aggression get the best of him.Even at his worst he hadn’t hurt her, but he’d come close—frighteningly close—and that lingeredbetween them like a shadow. “Shane,” she said, and paused to look him full in the face. “If it comes to that, I’d fight beside you.

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Not behind you.” He smiled a little, and nodded as they started moving again. “I’d still jump in front of the firstbullet. Hope you’re okay with that.” She shouldn’t have been, really, but the thought, and the emotion behind it, gave her another littleflush of warmth as she walked into the room. Like the rest of the human side of the collection center,the space felt warm and comfortable. The reclining chairs were leather, or some vinyl approximation.The speakers overhead were playing something acoustic and soft, and Claire relaxed in the chair asShane wriggled around in his. He went very still as the door opened and their attendant stepped inside. “No way,” Claire said. First, their attendant was a vampire. Second, it was Oliver. Oh, he waswearing a white lab coat and carrying a clipboard and looked vaguely official, but it was Oliver.“What exactly is the second in command of vampire affairs doing drawing blood?” “Yeah, and aren’t you needed pulling espresso at the coffee shop?” Shane added with a totallyunnecessary edge of snark. Oliver was often found behind the counter at the coffee shop, but he wasn’tneeded there. He just liked doing it, and Shane knew that. When you were as (presumably) rich and(absolutely) powerful a vampire as Oliver, you could do whatever you damn well wanted. “There’s been flu going around,” Oliver said, ignoring Shane’s tone as he took out his supplies andlaid them out on trays. “I understand they’re short staffed today. Occasionally, I do pitch in.” Somehow that didn’t quite feel like the whole story, even if it was true. Claire eyed himmistrustfully as he scooted a rolling stool up beside her and tied the tourniquet in place on her upperarm, then handed her a red rubber ball to squeeze as he prepared the needle. “I assume you’re goingfirst,” he said, “given Shane’s usual attitude.” That was delivered with every bit as dry an edge asShane’s sarcasm, and Shane opened his mouth, then stopped himself, his lips thinning into a stubbornline. Good, she thought. He was trying, at least. “Sure,” she said. She managed not to wince as his cold fingers palpated her arm to feel for veins,and she focused on his face. Oliver always seemed to be older than many of the other vamps, thoughshe couldn’t quite pin down why: his hair, maybe, which was threaded with gray streaks and tied backin a hippie-style ponytail just now. There weren’t many lines on his face, really, but she always justpegged him as middle-aged, and when she really stared, she couldn’t say why he gave her thatimpression. Mostly he just seemed more cynical than the others. He was wearing a black tee under a gray sweater today, and blue jeans, very relaxed; it wasn’t toodifferent from what Shane was wearing, actually, except Shane managed to make his look edgy andfashionable. The needle slid in with a short, hot burst, and then the pain subsided to a thin ache as Oliver taped itdown and attached the tubing. He released the tourniquet and clamps, and Claire watched the dark redline of blood race down the plastic and out of sight, into a collection bag below. “Good,” he said. “Youhave excellent flow.” “I’m . . . not sure how I feel about that, actually.” He shrugged. “It’s got fine color and pressure, and the scent is quite crisp. Very nice.” Claire felt even less good once he’d said that; he described it like a wine enthusiast talking abouthis favorite vintage. In fact, she felt just faintly sick, and rested her head against the soft cushionswhile she stared at a cheerful poster tacked up on the back of the door.

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Oliver moved on from her to Shane, and once she’d taken a couple of deep, calming breaths, shestopped studying the kitten picture and looked over at her boyfriend. He was tense, but trying not toseem it; she could read that in the slightly pale, set face and the way his shoulders had tightened,emphasizing the muscles under his sweater. He rolled up his sleeve without a word, and Oliver—likewise silent—put the tourniquet in place and handed him another ball to squeeze. Unlike Claire,who was barely able to dent the thing, Shane almost flattened it when he pressed. His veins werevisible to her even across the room, and Oliver barely skimmed fingertips over them, not meetingShane’s eyes at all, then slipped the needle in so quickly and smoothly that Claire almost missed it.“Two pints,” he told Shane. “You’ll still be behind on your schedule, but I suppose we shouldn’t drainyou much more at once.” “You sound disappointed.” Shane’s voice came out faint and thready, and he put his head backagainst the cushions as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn, I hate this. I really do.” “I know,” Oliver said. “Your blood reeks of it.” “If you keep that up, I’m going to punch you.” Shane said it softly, but he meant it. There was amuscle as tight as a steel cable in his jaw, and his hand pumped the rubber ball in convulsive squeezes.Oliver released the tourniquet and clamps, and Shane’s blood moved down the tube. “Can I specify a user for my donation?” Claire asked. That drew Oliver’s attention, and even Shanecracked an eyelid to glance at her. “Since mine’s voluntary anyway.” “Yes, I suppose,” Oliver said, and took out a black marker. “Name?” “The hospital,” she said. “For emergencies.” He gave her a long, measured stare, and then shrugged and put a simple cross symbol on the bag—already a quarter full—before returning it to the holder beside her chair. Shane opened his mouth, but Oliver said, “Don’t even consider saying it. Yours is already spokenfor.” Shane responded to that with a gagging sound. “Precisely why it’s not earmarked for my account,” Oliver said. “I do have standards. Now, if eitherof you feel any nausea or weakness, press the button. Otherwise, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He rose and walked toward the door, but hesitated with his hand on the knob. He turned back tothem and said, “I received the invitation.” For a moment, Claire didn’t know what he was talking about, but then she said, “Oh. The party.” “The engagement party,” he said. “You should speak with your friends about the . . . politicalsituation.” “I—What? What are you talking about?” Oliver’s eyes held hers, and she was wary of some kind of vamp compulsion, but he didn’t seem tobe trying at all. “I’ve already tried to warn Michael,” he said. “This is unwise. Very unwise. Thevampire community in Morganville is already . . . restless; they feel humans have been given toomuch freedom, too much license, in their activities of late. There was always a clearly drawnrelationship of—” “Serial killers and victims,” Shane put in. “Protector and those Protected,” Oliver said, flashing a scowl at her boyfriend. “One that is ofnecessity free of too much emotional complication. It’s an obligation that vampires can understand.This—connection between Michael and your human friend Eve is . . . raw and messy. Now that theythreaten to sanction it with legal status . . . there is resistance. On both sides, from vampires and

12.
humans alike.” “Wait,” Shane said. “Are you seriously telling us that people don’t want them to get married?” “There is a certain sense that it is not appropriate, or wise, to allow vampire-human intermarriage.” “That’s racist!” “It has nothing to do with race,” Oliver said. “It has everything to do with species. Vampires andhumans have a set relationship, and from the vampire standpoint, it’s one of predator and prey.” “I still think you mean parasite and host.” Oliver’s temper flared, which was dangerous; his face changed, literally shifted, as if the monsterunderneath was trying to get out. Then it faded, but it left a feeling in the room, a tingling shock thatmade even Shane shut up, at least for now. “Some don’t want Michael and Eve to marry,” he said.“You may take it from me that even those who are indifferent believe that it will go badly for allinvolved. It’s unwise. I’ve told him this, and I’ve tried to tell her. Now I’m telling you to stop them.” “We can’t!” Claire said, appalled. “They love each other!” “That has exactly nothing to do with what I am saying,” the vampire told her, and opened the doorto the room. “I care nothing about their feelings. I am talking about the reality of the situation. Amarriage is politically disastrous, and will ignite issues that are best left smoldering. Tell them that.Tell them it will be stopped, one way or another. Best if they stop it themselves.” “But—” The door shut on whatever she was going to say, and anyway, Claire wasn’t sure she really had anyidea. She looked over at Shane, who seemed just as speechless as she was. But he was, of course, the first to recover his voice. “Well,” he said, “I told him so.” “Shane!” “Look, vampires and humans together have never been a good idea. It’s like cats and mice hookingup. Always ends badly for the mouse.” “It’s not vampires and humans. It’s Eve and Michael.” “Which is different how, exactly?” “It—just is!” Shane sighed and put his head back against the cushions. “Fine,” he said. “But no way am I breakingEve’s heart. You get to tell her the wedding’s off, courtesy of the vampire almost-boss. Just let meknow so I can put my headphones on the going-deaf setting to drown out the screaming and wailing.” “You are such a coward.” “I am bleeding into a bag,” he pointed out. “I think I’ve achieved some kind of anticoward meritbadge.” She threw her red rubber ball at him.Not that Claire hadn’t secretly seen all this coming. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. She’d been involved in all the party preparations—Eve had insisted.Between the two of them, they’d planned absolutely everything, from the napkins (black) on thetablecloths (silver) to the paper color on the invitations (black, again, with silver ink). It had been fun,of course, sitting there having girl time, picking out flowers and food and party favors, setting upplaylists for the music, and best of all picking out clothes. It had been only this week, as everything got . . . well, real . . . that Claire had begun feeling that

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maybe it wasn’t all just fairy tales and ice cream. Walking with Eve downtown had turned into awhole new experience, a shocking one; Claire was used to being ignored, or (more recently) beinglooked at with some weird wariness—wearing the Founder of Morganville’s pin in her collar hadearned her an entirely unwanted (possibly undeserved) reputation as a badass. But this week, walking with Eve, she’d seen hate close up. Oh, it wasn’t obvious or anything.... It came in sidelong glances, in the tightening of people’s lipsand the clipped way people spoke to Eve, if they spoke at all. Morganville had changed somewhat, inthese past couple of years, and one of the most important changes had been that people were no longerafraid to show what they felt. Claire had thought that was a positive change. At first, Claire had figured the dissing was just isolated incidents, and then she’d thought thatmaybe it was just the normal small-town politics at work. Eve was a Goth, she was easilyrecognizable, and although she was crushingly funny, she could also piss people off who didn’t gether. This was different, though. The look people had in their eyes for Eve . . . That had been contempt.Or anger. Or disgust. Eve hadn’t seemed to notice at first, but Claire detected a weakening in her usual glossy armor ofhumor about midway through their last shopping trip—about the time that an unpleasant lady withchurch hair had walked away from the counter while Eve was checking out with a bagful of stuff forthe party. As she walked away, the Church Lady had reached out to mess with a stacked display ofsunglasses, and Claire had caught sight of something odd. The woman was too old for a tattoo—at least, too old for a fresh one—but there was a design inkedon her arm that was still red around the edges. Claire saw only a glimpse of it, but it looked like somekind of familiar shape. A stake. It was a symbol of a stake. Another, younger lady had come hustling from the back of the shop to wait on Eve, flushed andflustered. She’d avoided meeting their eyes, and had said the bare minimum to get them out of thestore. Church Lady hadn’t bothered to look at them at all. Claire had waited until they were safely out of earshot of any passersby before she said, “So, didyou see the tat? Freaky.” “The stake?” Eve’s black-painted lips were tight, and even in sunlight, her kohl-rimmed eyeslooked shadowed. Her Urban Decay makeup normally looked really cool, but in the harsh wintersunlight, Claire thought it looked a little . . . desperate. Not just crying out for attention, but screamingfor it. “Yeah, it’s the new big thing. Stake tats. Even the geezers are lining up for them. Human prideand all that crap.” “Is that why—” “Why the bitch refused to wait on me?” Eve tossed her black-dyed shag hair back from her paleface in a defiant shake. “Yeah, probs. Because I’m a traitor.” “Not any more than I am!” “No, you signed up for Protection, and you made a really good deal at it, too—they respect that.What they don’t respect is sleeping with the enemy.” Eve looked stubborn, but there was despair in it,too. “Being a fang-banger.” “Michael’s not the enemy, and you’re not—how can anybody think that?” “There’s always been this undercurrent in Morganville. Us and them, you know. The us doesn’t

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have fangs.” “But—you love each other.” Claire didn’t know what surprised her more . . . that the Morganvillefolks were turning on Eve, of all people, or that she wasn’t more surprised by that herself. People werepetty and stupid sometimes, and even as fabulous as Michael was, some people just would never seehim as anything but a walking pair of fangs. True, he was no fluffy puppy; Michael was capable of really bringing the violence, but only whenhe absolutely had to do it. He liked avoiding fights, not causing them, and at his heart, he was loyaland kind and shy. Hard to lump all that under the vampire, therefore evil label. An old cowboy, complete with hat and boots and a sheepskin-lined jeans jacket, passed the two ofthem on the sidewalk. He gave Eve a bitter, narrow glare, and spat up something nasty right in front ofher shiny, high-heeled, patent leather shoes. Eve lifted her chin and kept walking. “Hey!” Claire said, turning toward the cowboy in an outraged fury, but Eve grabbed her arm anddragged her along. “Wait—he—” “Lesson number one in Morganville,” Eve said. “Keep walking. Just keep walking.” And they had. Eve hadn’t said another word about it; she’d put on bright, fragile smiles, and whenMichael had come home from teaching at the music store, they’d sat together on the couch andcuddled and whispered, but Claire didn’t think Eve had told him about the attitudes. Now this thing with Oliver, telling her outright that the marriage was off, or else. Very, very bad. “So,” she said to Shane as they walked home, arms linked, hands in their pockets to hide from theicy, whipping chill of the wind. “What am I going to say to Eve? Or, God, to Michael?” “Nothing,” Shane said. “But you said I should—” “I reconsidered. I’m not Oliver’s messenger monkey, and neither are you. If he wants to play Lordof the Manor with those two, he can come do it himself.” Shane grinned fiercely. “I would pay to seethat. Michael does not like to be told he can’t do something. Especially something to do with Eve.” “Do you think—” Oh, this was dangerous territory, and Claire hesitated before taking a step into it.Filled with land mines, this was. “God, I can’t believe I’m asking this, but . . . do you think Michael’sreally serious about her? I mean, you know him better than I do. Longer, anyway. I get the sense,sometimes, that he has . . . doubts.” Shane was silent for a long moment—too long, she thought—and then he said, “You’re asking ifhe’s serious about loving her?” “No, I know he loves her. But marrying her . . .” “Marriage is a big word for all guys,” Shane said. “You know that. It’s kind of an allergy. We getitchy and sweaty just trying to spell it, much less do it.” “So you think he’s nervous?” “I think . . . I think it’s a big deal. Bigger for him and Eve than for most people.” Shane kept hiseyes down, fixed on the sidewalk and the steps they were taking. “Look, ask him, okay? This is girltalk. I don’t do girl talk.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Ass.” “That’s better. I was starting to feel like we should go shoe shopping or something.”

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“Being a girl is not a bad thing!” “No.” He took his hand out of his pocket and put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.“If I could be half the girl you are, I’d be—Wow, I have no idea where I was going with that, and itjust turned out uncomfortable, all of a sudden.” “Jackass.” “You like being a girl—that’s good. I like being a guy—that’s also good.” “Next you’ll be all Me, Tarzan, you, Jane! ” “I’ve seen you stick arrows in vampires. Not too damn likely I’d be thumping my chest and tryingto tell you I wear the loincloth around here.” “And you changed the subject. Michael. Eve.” He held up his left hand. “I swear, I have no idea what Michael’s thinking. Guys don’t spend alltheir time trying to mind-read each other.” “But—” “Like I said. If you want to know, ask him. Michael doesn’t lie worth a damn, anyway. Not topeople he cares about.” That was true, or at least it always had been before. A particularly cold slash of wind cut at theexposed skin of Claire’s throat and face, and she shivered and burrowed closer to Shane’s warm side. “Before you ask,” Shane said, bending his head low to hers, “I love you.” “I wasn’t going to ask.” “Oh, you were going there in your head. And I love you. Now it’s your turn.” She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face, or the warmth that burst up inside her, asummer contrast to the winter’s day. “Well, you know, I’m still analyzing how I feel, in mycompletely girly way.” “Oh, now, that’s just low.” She turned, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him. Shane’s lips were chilled and a little dry, but theywarmed up, and a lick of her tongue softened the kiss into silk and velvet. He tasted like coffee andcaramel and a dark, spiced undertone that was all his own. A taste she craved, every day, every hour,every minute. Shane made a pleased sound in the back of his throat, picked her up around the waist, and movedher backward until she felt a cold brick wall against her shoulders. Then he set about really kissing her—deep, sweet, hot, intent. She lost herself in it, drifting and delirious, until he finally came up for air.The look in his brown eyes was focused and dreaming at the same time, and his smile was . . .dangerous. “Are you still analyzing?” he asked. “Hmmm,” Claire said, and pressed against him. “I think I’ve come to a conclusion.” “Damn, I hope not. I’ve still got a lot of ways left to try to make my case.” Someone cleared a throat near them, and it was unexpected enough to make Shane take a giant stepback and turn, putting himself between the source of that noise and Claire. Protecting her, as always.Claire shook her head in exasperation and moved to her right, standing next to him. The throat clearing had come from Father Joe. The priest of Morganville’s Catholic church was aman in his early thirties, with red hair and freckles and kind eyes, and the smile he gave them wasonly just a touch judgmental. “Don’t mean to disturb you,” he said, which was a lie, but maybe only asmall one. “Claire, I wanted to thank you for coming to last Sunday’s choir practice. You have a verynice voice.”

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She blushed—partly because a priest had just closely observed her thinking very impure thoughtsabout her boyfriend, and partly because she wasn’t used to those kinds of compliments. “It’s not verystrong,” she said. “But I like to sing, sometimes.” “You just need practice,” he said. “I hope we’ll see you again at mass.” He raised those eyebrows ather, then nodded to Shane. “You’re always invited, too.” “Thanks for asking,” Shane said, almost sincerely. “But you won’t come.” “Not too damn likely, Father.” Claire continued to blush, because as Father Joe walked away, hands clasped behind his back, Shanehad turned to stare at her. “Mass?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows. “Tell me you’re not confessing,too.” “No, you have to be a real Catholic to do that,” she said. “So—what was the attraction?” “Myrnin wanted to go.” That said volumes, brief as it was. Claire’s boss—a dangerously nutsvampire who was an utter sweetheart, most of the time, until he wasn’t—was not a subject Shanereally liked very much, and she hurried on as she saw his expression shift a little toward annoyance. “Iwent with him a couple of times as, you know, sanity control. But I’m more of a Unitarian, I guess.The church is nice, though. And so is Father Joe. Hey, did you know there’s a Jewish temple in town,too, and a mosque? They’re both really small, but they’re here. I don’t think the vamps are toowelcome there, though.” “Just don’t go telling him about, you know, anything personal. About us.” “Embarrassed?” He buffed his fingernails on his coat and looked at them with an exaggerated smugness. “Me,embarrassed? Nah, I was just worried he’d feel bad about his celibacy thing.” “God, you are such a jackass.” “That is three times you’ve called me that in one walk. You need a new compliment.” He tickledher, and she mock-shrieked and ran, and he chased her, and they raced each other around the block,down the street, all the way to the white fence around their not-very-attractive yard, up the walk to thebig pillared porch of the peeling Victorian house. The Glass House, called that because the last (andcurrent) owners were the Glass family—Michael being the last of that family still in residence. Therest of them were, technically, renting rooms, but over time Shane, Claire, and Eve had becomeMichael’s family. As close as family, anyway. As evidenced by the fact that when Shane opened the door, he yelled out, “Put your pants on,people; we are back!” “Shut up!” Eve yelled from somewhere upstairs. “Jackass!” “You know, when people say that, I just hear the word awesome ,” Shane said. “What’s for lunch?Because personally I am down two pints of blood and I need food. Cookies and orange juice did notcut it.” “Hot dogs,” Eve’s distant voice said. “And no, I didn’t make chili. You’d just criticize how I makeit. But there’s relish and onions and mustard!” “You’re a princess!” Shane called back on his way to the kitchen. “Okay, a lame Goth half-deadprincess, but whatever!” “Jack. Ass!”

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Claire shook her head as she dumped her backpack on the couch. She was glowing and tingling fromthe run, and felt a little light-headed—probably hadn’t been smart, doing that so soon after givingblood, but that was one thing you learned quick in Morganville: how to run even with blood loss.Shane wandered into the kitchen, and she heard things banging around for a few minutes. He cameback with two plates, one with plain hot dogs, one with hot dogs buried under a mound of whateverthat stuff was—onions, relish, mustard, probably hot sauce, too. Claire took the plain plate. He dug a can of Coke out of his pocket and handed that over, too.“You’re officially no longer a jackass,” she told him, as he thumped down on the couch beside her andstarted shoveling food in his mouth. He mumbled something and winked at her, and she ate in slow,measured bites as she thought about what she was going to do about Eve. Shane finished his plate first—not surprisingly—and took hers away into the kitchen, leaving herholding the second hot dog. He was gone—conveniently—when Eve came downstairs. Her poufyblack net skirt brushed the wall with a strange hiss as she descended, like a snake’s, and Eve did lookpoisonously fierce, Claire thought. A leather corset and jacket, skull-themed tights under the skirt, ablack leather choker with spikes, and loads of makeup. She flung herself on the couch in Shane’sdeserted spot and thumped her booted feet up on the coffee table with a jingle of chrome chain. “I can’t believe you actually got him to donate without some kind of four-point restraint system,”Eve said, and reached for the game controller. Not that the TV was on, but she liked to fiddle withthings, and the controller was perfect. On her left hand, the diamond engagement ring twinkled softlyin the light. It was a silver ring, not gold; Eve didn’t do gold. But the diamond was beautiful. “You’regoing to be around on Saturday to decorate, right?” “Right,” Claire agreed, and took a bite of her hot dog. She was still hungry, and focused hard on thedelicious taste to take her mind off what Oliver had said. “Anything you want me to get?” Eve smiled, a happy curve of dark red lips, and dug in the pocket of her jacket. She came out with apiece of paper, which she handed over. “Thought you’d never ask, maid of honor,” she said. “I hadsome trouble finding the right party supplies. I was hoping maybe you’d take a look . . . ?” “Sure,” Claire said. It was a long list, and she silently mourned the loss of her day off. “Ah—Eve—?” “Yeah?” Eve ran her hand through her shag-cut hair, fluffing it out into the appropriate puff ballthickness. “Hey, do you think this is too much for meeting with Father Joe?” Claire blinked as she tried to put the image of Eve’s combat boots and stiff net skirt into the samespace with Father Joe. She gave up and said, “Probably.” “Awesome. I was going for over-the-top. That way, no matter what I wear to the party, it’ll be arelief.” Eve had a logic all her own, and usually it was awesomely amusing, but right now, Claire wasfocused on something else. Shane wasn’t going to like it, and truthfully she didn’t much enjoy it,either, but she felt like she had to speak up. That was what friends did, right? Speak up even when itwas hard. “I need to tell you something,” Claire said. There must have been something serious in her voice,because Eve stopped fiddling with the controller and put it aside. She turned, putting one knee up onthe couch, and faced Claire directly. Now that she had Eve’s undivided attention, though, Claire feltsuddenly tongue-tied, and there was a suspicious absence of Shane as backup . . . and no sound fromthe kitchen. He was probably lurking on the other side of the door, listening.

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Chicken. Eve saved her from the unbearable tension by saying, in a very level voice, “Oliver talked to you,didn’t he?” Claire pulled in a deep, relieved breath. “You know.” “Oh, he’s been dropping hints like atomic bombs for about a month now,” Eve said. “Everythingshort of ordering Michael to call it off.” Her dark eyes studied Claire’s face, all too knowing. “He toldyou to tell us to call it off.” Claire just nodded. Eve’s lips slowly spread into a wicked smile. “See, Ialways wanted to turn this town upside down, and we are so doing that. I can just hear him now. Backin my day, humans knew their place. What’s next, marrying cattle? Dogs and cats, living together.” Her impersonation of Oliver’s accent and impatience was so dead-on that Claire burst out laughing,a little guiltily. She heard the kitchen door swing open behind her, and when she glanced back, she sawShane standing there, arms folded, leaning against the wall as he watched the two of them. “So,” hesaid. “Vamp Central Command doesn’t want you guys getting hitched. What are you going to do?” “Piss them off,” Eve said. “You with me?” Shane’s smile was every bit as dark and wicked as Eve’s. “You know it.” “See, I knew I could count on you for quality mayhem, my man.” Eve settled her focus back onClaire again. “What about you?” “Me?” “I know you’re friends with them,” Eve said. “Lots more than me or Shane. This is going to put youin the middle. I don’t like that, but it’s going to happen.” “Oliver already tried to put me in the middle, but as far as I’m concerned, who you marry is none ofhis damn business,” Claire said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what was happening.” “And what about Amelie?” “It’s none of her business, either. This can’t be the first time a human and a vampire got married.” “It isn’t.” They all jumped—Eve included—because Michael was standing at the top of the stairs, lookingover the railing at them, looking casual and rumpled and fresh out of bed. His shirt was still half-unbuttoned. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” He kept fastening his shirt on the way down, whichwas—from a purely objective point of view, Claire thought virtuously—kind of a pity. “It isn’t thefirst time a vampire and a human have gotten married in Morganville, and that’s the problem.” He wasa tall boy—and, oddly for a vampire, he was almost exactly as old as he looked, which was frozensomewhere around eighteen. It was a weird thought, but Shane looked just a little bit older now thanwhen Claire had first met him, and Michael didn’t. And never would. He settled into his usual chair, the one where his guitar was lying in its case next to it. He was likeEve; he had to have something to do with his hands, and in his case, his default was the guitar. Hewent for it immediately, and began picking out soft chords and notes, tuning the strings as he went. “Well?” Shane said, and sat on the arm of the sofa beside Claire. “You can’t leave it like that, man.” Michael glanced at him, a flash of big blue eyes, and then set his gaze at a safe middle distance. Hismusic face, Claire thought, the one that he put up like a shield. One place he wasn’t looking was atEve. At all. And that just wasn’t right. “It was before my time,” he said. “Back in the sixties, I guess, a vamp named Pavel hooked up witha girl named Jenny, and it got serious. They got married.”

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Silence, except for the steady, relentless whisper of his fingers on the strings of the guitar. Eve wasstaring at him intensely, and finally said, “You haven’t told me this.” That broke through his shell for a second, and he glanced over at her, an apologetic and gentle look.“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to think how to do it, because it’s not a happy ending.” “Didn’t think it was,” she said. Eve sounded very steady, very adult. “But every story’s tragicsomewhere along the way. You just have to know where to stop telling the story to make it a happyending.” “Well, this one doesn’t have any happy middles, either,” Michael said. “They were married forabout a month, and Pavel killed her. He didn’t mean to do it; he just . . . couldn’t cope.” “Why?” Claire asked. Michael raised his eyebrows, just a twitch, and got a very odd look on hisface, as if he was trying to think how to phrase his reply. Finally, he said, “He wasn’t used to being around humans on a daily basis. In particular, not aroundgirls.” “And she pissed him off?” Shane asked. “Not exactly—you really don’t want to know.” “Yeah,” Shane said, frowning. “I kinda do.” Michael now looked truly uncomfortable. “There are times when it’s hard to be around girls whenyou’re a vampire. Look, don’t make me draw you a picture, okay?” “I don’t—” Eve’s face went blank, and she looked over at Claire. “Oh. Oh.” Claire shrugged, mystified for just another second, and then she got it, too. Once a month. And vampires could smell blood. She imagined her expression looked pretty much like Eve’s. Shane slowly sat down on the couch next to Claire. “That is . . . epically disgusting,” Shane said,“and I don’t think I will ever, ever get that out of my brain again, man. Thanks.” “Told you you didn’t want to know,” Michael said. “Anyway, Pavel didn’t expect it, and he lostcontrol and killed her. Then her family came after him and killed him. The vamps arrested her fatherand brother and executed them; some said they weren’t even the ones who did it. It started the wholehuman underground resistance, and a bunch of them attacked the vampire districts and tried to burnthem down. People and vampires got hurt; some got killed. Morganville was chaos for a while. It wasbad.” They all let that sit in silence for a few seconds, and then Eve said, “And now, what? Amelie’safraid our story’s going to end the same way? With her cleaning up the mess?” “I don’t want to hurt you,” Michael said. He’d lowered his head while he was talking, focusing onhis guitar, but now he looked up and directly at her, blue eyes clear and honest. “But we both know therisks, Eve.” “Honey, it’s not the same thing at all. If you were going to snap, you’d have already done it—you’ve been living in a house with three heartbeats and two girls for how long now? You’re not goingto make a mistake, because you’ve already proved you know how to handle—this.” She waved atthem, the whole situation, everything. “You said it yourself: Pavel hardly ever came in contact with apulse. He got overwhelmed—too much too soon. You’re already used to it.” “What if I’m not?” he asked softly. “You really think about what might happen?” She pulled in a deep breath. “All the time, Michael. I’m the one who’s risking my life, after all.” Shane cleared his throat. “If you guys want to have some kind of serious convo, let me clear the hell

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out.” “No, you stay,” Eve commanded. “Everybody stays. Everybody needs to hear this; right, Michael?If Amelie wants to come down from the mountain and tell you stop the wedding, what are you goingto do about it?” He looked—well, there was no other word for it than miserable. He looked down again, strummed afew chords, actually hit a wrong note. She saw him flinch, and he deliberately waited a few longseconds before he said, “I’d do what’s right.” “That’s not an answer.” Eve’s voice shook a little this time, and her fists clenched where they restedon her skull-patterned tights. “Michael, are you going to marry me even if Amelie tells you not to doit?” “I don’t know if I can,” he said. “Amelie can influence other vampires, if she wants to. She has thepower to make me do what she wants.” “Michael!” “I’m telling you the truth!” He shouted it, and almost threw the guitar back in its case, standing upwith sudden energy. His pale face was lightly flushed, and his body language rippled with tension.Claire unconsciously pressed herself back into the cushions, and felt Shane shift his weight next toher. She put a hand on his knee, and he relaxed. A little. “Dammit, Eve, I am trying. Don’t youunderstand? It’s not like I can just do what I want, twenty-four /seven! I’m—” “Owned,” Eve finished for him, and stood up to face him. Her fists were still clenched. “Amelie’spet. And she can make you roll over—is that it? You won’t stand up to her, even for me?” “Eve—” “No. No, I get it.” She was gulping in deep breaths now, and her eyes glittered, but she wasn’tcrying. Not yet. “Do you even want to marry me, really?” “God,” Michael whispered. He stepped forward and put his arms around her, a sudden, almostdesperate move, and she was like a statue in his arms, stiff with surprise. “God, Eve, yes. I want tomake you happy. I want that so much.” She went limp against him, holding on, and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Then fight forus,” she whispered. “Please.” “If I fight Amelie, I’ll lose.” “Then go down fighting, you jerk!” He kissed the top of her head. “I will.” He rested his chin there where he’d kissed, and Clairerealized that he was looking at Shane. She glanced up and saw Shane looking back. Whatevercommunication was going on there, she didn’t have the playbook to read it. Shane’s face was blank,his body language tense. After a second, he got up and walked out of the room into the kitchen. Claire stuffed the rest of herhot dog in her mouth and followed him. Shane kept walking, right to the back door, opened it, and went outside. Claire chewed fast,swallowed, and lunged out after him before the screen door flapped shut. She hopped down theconcrete steps and caught up with Shane just as he sat down under the shade of the scraggly tree nextto the leaning wooden garage. “What was that look?” Shane pulled out a pack of breath mints and took two, then passed them over. She took one. “Youknow what it was.”

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“Really don’t.” “If you don’t know, you don’t want to know, trust me.” “It could not possibly be as bad as the Pavel story.” He sighed. “It’s just that I’m not going to stand there while he lies to her. I’m trying to be allnonviolent and shit. And I want to punch him, and he knows it, and out here is better right now until Iget myself together.” Wow. That was a lot of communication going on in a ten-second look. So much for guys nottalking; they just did it way, way differently. “Wait. . . . He was lying?” “I’m not saying he doesn’t love her. He does. But—” Shane was silent for a moment. “But there’ssomething else, too.” He shrugged. “Look, it’s between them, okay? We have to let them work it out.” “No, it’s not between them—she’s my best friend! I can’t let her walk into this if he’s not reallyserious!” “She knows,” Shane said. “Girls know, deep down.” She did, Claire realized. Eve had been focused on all the stuff, the party plans, the invitations, allthat, instead of facing her own fears. She already knew something was wrong, and she didn’t knowhow to fix it. “Well—she can’t go through with it. She just can’t.” “Hang on—half an hour ago you were saying how the vamps couldn’t tear apart true love.” “If it is. But what if it’s not, Shane? What if they’re making some awful, awful mistake and they’reboth afraid to admit it?” He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned against him, turning her face to bury it in theheavy fabric of his blue jean jacket. It was chilly out here, even in the sun, and she was grateful for thewarmth of his body. The feel of his fingers stroking through her hair made some tense, anxious part ofher slowly relax inside. “You can’t fix everything,” he told her. “Sometimes you’ve just got to let itfix itself, or wreck itself.” “Was it Gloriana?” she asked. Her voice was muffled, but she knew he could hear and understand.“Do you think she got to Michael?” At the sound of the female vampire’s name, Shane’s muscles tightened, then deliberately loosened;it wasn’t quite a flinch, but it definitely was close. Gloriana had been a horrible, manipulative,deceptive (beautiful) witch of a vamp who’d wanted . . . well, human playthings. She had definitelygotten to Shane, who’d become her toy soldier; she’d seduced the part of him that loved to fight. She’d treated Michael differently. Still a toy, but a completely different kind. “Maybe she did get to him,” Shane acknowledged quietly. “Yeah, at least a little. She could do that,make you feel—anything she wanted. It’s tough to deal with it, but at least Glory’s gone in that not-coming-back way. Eve’s still here.” “Is that enough?” He didn’t answer her, and Claire thought, miserably, that there really was no answer—none that thetwo of them could get to, anyway. He was right. It was Eve and Michael’s engagement, and Eve and Michael’s problem. If they could admit they actually had one.The shadows got longer, and the wind got colder, and eventually not even Shane’s body heat couldkeep Claire from freezing, so they went back inside. It was quiet, but not silent; as Claire poured

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herself a glass of water and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table, she heard the creak offootsteps overhead. It had to be Eve, because from the living room drifted the quiet, contemplativesound of Michael’s guitar. Talk about “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” Claire thought. That was thesaddest thing she’d ever heard. Shane gave her a quick, sweet kiss and went into the living room. She stayed where she was, eatingher apple, listening to the quiet, low buzz of their voices over the music (Michael was still playing),and wondering if she ought to go upstairs and see if Eve wanted to spill it out. It was a friend’s duty,right? But Claire felt angry at Michael right now, righteously angry, and she wasn’t sure that wouldn’tboil over and complicate everything even more. She eased over to the kitchen door and cracked it open. Shane would be kicking Michael’s ass, atleast verbally; she just knew it. But he wasn’t. They weren’t talking about Eve or the engagement party at all. Michael was saying, “. . . over it, man. If you want us to get back where we were, you have to letthat crap go.” There was a short silence, and then Shane said, “I hurt Claire. Hell, man, I hurt you. I wanted to killevery damn vampire in the entire world, including you, single-handed.” He paused for a second, andthen said, very softly, “I was like my dad, only on steroids, and it felt right. I’m not sure that’s evergoing away, Mike. That’s my problem. If deep down I’m an abusive, violent ass like my old man, howexactly do I pretend I don’t know that?” “You’re not him.” Michael kept playing, a slow and soothing tune, and his voice was quiet anddeep. “Never were, never will be. You just hang on to that.” He paused a second, and Claire almostheard a smile in his voice. “You still want to kill me?” “Sometimes, yeah.” Shane, on the other hand, sounded completely serious. “I love you, man, but . . .it takes time for all that stuff to go away. I don’t want to feel it.” “I know, shithead.” “If you break Eve’s heart, I will kill you.” Michael stopped playing. “It’s complicated.” “No, it’s not. Stop screwing around and commit.” “Oh, so now you’re giving me relationship advice? You can’t commit to a cell phone contract, letalone—” “I’m committed,” Shane interrupted. “To her. You know I am.” “Yeah,” Michael said. “Yeah, I know that. And you know if you screw it up with Claire, I’ll rip yourthroat out and drink you like a juice box, so you’ve got some incentive.” Shane laughed. “You know what? I do that, you’ve got permission. And you know how I feel aboutthat whole drinking-me stuff.” It was a nice moment—one of the best she’d heard between them for a while—and then it all fellapart because there was a knock at the back door, and Claire went to answer it, and standing on thesteps was a vampire. Female, wearing a hooded black jacket and gloves, very chic but also very sun-blocking. Claire couldn’t really make her out beneath the giant dark glasses and the smotheringgarments, so she said, “Can I help you?” “It’s Claire, isn’t it? Hello. You probably don’t remember me,” the woman said. She smiled, a littletentatively. “My name is Naomi. I met you the day that you freed us from confinement in the cellsbelow town.”

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For a few seconds Claire didn’t know what she was talking about, because that had happened a longtime ago. Once she did remember, she blinked and involuntarily stepped back. When she’d first come to Morganville, the vampires had been hiding a secret: they were sick, andgetting sicker. That illness led first to forgetfulness, then to acting out, then to mindless violence . . .and finally to a motionless catatonia. The onset varied from one vampire to another; some weredangerously uncontrollable in weeks, and others were watching themselves slip slowly, day by day,year by year, toward the inevitable. Naomi had been in the cells—one of the violent ones, confined for everybody’s safety. When thecure had been distributed, those vampires had gotten better, and returned to normal—for Morganville—lives. She’d thanked Claire, back then, and seemed nice enough, if disturbingly Vampire with aCapital V. Naomi took silence as an invitation, and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen, sighing withrelief. “Thank you,” she said. “I fear I don’t brave the sun as much as I ought to. Even at my age, oneneeds to build up a tolerance, but I’m not good at forcing myself to do unpleasant things.” She pulledoff the glam glasses and pushed back her hood, and the face finally clicked into place for Claire.Lustrous, long blond hair, pretty, young. She looked a little like the much-loathed Gloriana, whomClaire and Shane had just been mutually hating, but Naomi was a very different person, and a verydifferent kind of vampire—at least, from Claire’s memory of her. She smiled politely at Claire and held out a slender hand. Claire took it and shook. Naomi’s feltcool and strong. “Uh . . . it’s nice to see you,” Claire said, which was kind of a lie, because it was unsettling to seeany vampire show up at your back door. “What can I do for you?” “May we sit?” Naomi indicated the kitchen table with a very elegant gesture, and Claire couldn’tshake the idea that this girl—not much older physically than she herself was now—had grown up in atime when elegance and perfect manners were survival tools, especially for girls. Especially for royalgirls. “Sure,” Claire said, instantly marking herself as part of the unwashed rabble, definitely not throne-worthy, but she tried to sit down with at least a little bit of grace. “Can I get you any—well,anything?” They had a little extra type A in the refrigerator, not that it was Claire’s to offer, but shedidn’t think Michael would mind. Then again, she felt weird about offering blood as if it were a cup oftea. There were limits to being social. “I thank you, it is most generous of you, but no, I am not hungry,” Naomi said. The way she sat,straight-backed and yet somehow perfectly at ease, made Claire feel sweaty and round-shouldered. “Iam very pleased to see you again. I am told you are doing very well in your studies.” Her polite smiledeepened a little, bringing out charming little dimples. “And that sounds as if I’m your terriblyancient maiden aunt. I am sorry. This is awkward, is it not?” “A little bit,” Claire said, and couldn’t help but smile back. Naomi felt like a real person to her—someone who had lived a real life, and still remembered what it was like to have human feelings.“Things are going okay; thanks for asking. And you—how’s your sister?” She scrambled to rememberthe name, some kind of flower. . . . “ Violet?” “I am gratified you remember. Violet is fine. She’s taken up the opportunities Morganville presentswith an alarming amount of enthusiasm. She’s painting now.” Naomi rolled her eyes. “She’s not verygood, but she’s very determined. It always irked her when we were children that she was forbidden to

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do anything but ladylike watercolors. Every time I see her these days, she looks as if she’s fallen face-first onto a paint palette.” “When we met before, you said—I think you said you were Amelie’s sisters?” Meaning sisters tothe town’s vampire Founder, Amelie the all-powerful. Claire, looking at Naomi, could believe it; therewas something about the way she held her head, the posture, even the glossy, pale hair. So she was a little surprised when Naomi shook her head. “Oh, no, we are not sisters in the sensethat we were born in the same family,” she said. “Sisters in our second birth, if you will. We are bothof the same generation turned by Bishop, and there are not so many of us left, so by tradition we lookon each other as family. Violet is my true sister of my mortal life. Amelie is our sister of immortallife. I know it’s a bit confusing.” “Oh.” Claire wasn’t very clear about the vampire concept of family.... Apparently they traced itthrough who had made them vampires in the first place, so Bishop had a lot of kids, some of whomwere what Claire considered good—like Amelie—and most of whom were definitely not. It mattered,but Claire wasn’t really sure how much, or how it ranked against a human family relationship. Notenough to keep them from occasionally killing one another, but then, the same could be said fornatural-born siblings. “I just wondered.” “At the time I met you, I wasn’t used to speaking with mortals. It had been a very long time, and wewere still . . . not as well as we could have been. But we’re much better now.” Naomi showed a fullsmile, and it was just a tiny bit unsettling. My, what big teeth you have, Claire thought. Not thatNaomi had done anything wrong, not at all. She didn’t even show a hint of fang. “So of course, I firstwant to apologize for any possible discomfort I might have caused you during our initial meeting.None was intended, believe me.” That was, in terms of what had gone on in Claire’s life, a really long time ago, and it struck her asoddly funny. She tried not to let it show. “No, really, it was fine. I’m fine.” “Ah, you relieve me.” Naomi settled back in her chair, as if she really was relieved, which Clairesincerely doubted. “Now that I’m reassured on that point, I can proceed to my second. I came to pay acall on my youngest relative.” Again, Claire went blank. “Um . . . excuse me?” “Michael,” Naomi said. There was something that turned warm and even sweeter in her voice whenshe mentioned Michael’s name, and that wasn’t vampire at all.... That was something Claireunderstood completely. “I have been missing him.” It was purely a girl-appreciating-a-hottie reaction. And just like that, it all became crystal clear for Claire. There was, after all, a hidden vampire angleto what was going on with Eve and Michael.... He must have been seeing Naomi. On the side. Withouttelling anyone, or at least not discussing it in front of Claire and Shane, and Claire was pretty sure thatEve wouldn’t have been just Oh, fine about it if she’d really known. The pretty blond reason for Michael’s erratic behavior was sitting across the table and smiling ather. Claire stood up, all in one rushed motion. “I’ll go get him,” she said. She knew it sounded rude, andsaw surprise on Naomi’s face, but she didn’t care, not at all. “Stay here.” And that was probably evenruder, that somebody with royal whatever blood was being told to stay in the kitchen like the help.Good. Claire burst through the kitchen door. She must have interrupted some intense guy talk, because

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both Michael and Shane stopped talking and straightened up the way people did when they felt guilty.Michael hushed his guitar strings with a flat palm. “You have a visitor,” Claire said. She spat the words out flat and hard, straight at Michael, and shethought he must have been able to hear how fast her heart was beating. Maybe her face was red. Itshould have been; she felt hot all over. “It’s Naomi.” If she’d had any doubts at all about it, the sight of his face when she said the name erased them.That was the most shocked, caught-red-handed expression she’d ever seen, and God, in that momentshe hated him. Shane looked over at his best friend, but by the time he did, Michael had managed to wipe away allguilt from his expression and just look curious. “Oh,” he said, and stood up, leaning his guitar againstthe arm of the chair. It seemed to her to be not just careful, but too careful, as if he was afraid to beseen rushing. As if he felt he had to slow down and make sure he didn’t make mistakes. “Of course.Thanks, Claire.” She glared at him, and avoided him as he went past her toward the kitchen. She headed straight forthe steps, prepared to run all the way up, but Shane’s voice stopped her. “Hey,” he said, keeping it low.“What the hell?” “You go ask. You’re always telling me not to try to analyze,” she said, and went up, wondering ifshe should tell Eve, wondering if that would lead to the ultimate Glass House apocalypse. She didn’t,only because she heard the shower running. Eve tended to shower when she got unhappy. Therewouldn’t be any hot water for anybody else, not for a while. Claire passed up the bathroom, closed and locked her door, put her headphones on, and blocked outthe world with the loudest, saddest music she could stand. Oh, Michael, how could you? If the knowledge hurt her, how awful was it going to be for Eve?

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TWO CLAIREClaire expected a blowup—daily—of the Michael/Eve relationship; Eve didn’t mention Naomi, andneither did Michael, and the tension kept spinning up inside of Claire like twisting rubber bands. Shane hadn’t said much about Naomi’s visit, either, though Claire could tell it troubled him. WhenClaire had tried to talk about it, he’d gone back to his old refrain. Ask Michael. Yeah, right, like shewas going to get in his face and ask, when she already knew. He also said stay out of it. And that was probably good advice. But Claire couldn’t just see this allheading for the cliff and not at least try to turn the wheel. It might be wrong, it might be messy andcrazy and a very bad idea, but she had to do it. So she took Eve out for an ice-cream soda at Marjo’s Diner, which Eve happily accepted, becausethere were no better ice-cream sodas available in the known universe, and Eve never turned downsomething ice-cream based. It was, Claire thought, a good thing Eve ran on so much nervous energy,with all that sugar craving. As she spooned up the deliciousness, Eve couldn’t put down her cell. She was scrolling through herto-do list, shaking her head. “You would not believe how much there is,” she told Claire. “I mean, I’vebeen doing this for weeks, and this list never gets smaller! It’s insane. And I’ve only got a couple ofdays left. Oh! I need to get my appointment to get a waxing done.” “I really did not need to know that,” Claire sighed. Eve threw her a wink and slurped up dessert.“Uh—I have something I need to tell you.” Eve’s eyes widened, and she put both spoon and cell down. “It’s Shane, isn’t it? It’s always Shanegetting himself into some kind of crazy trouble. What vampire did he—” “No, it’s not Shane.” Although Claire honestly couldn’t blame her for jumping to that conclusion;Shane was trouble-prone, no doubt about that. “It’s about Michael.” Eve smiled, but it looked manic and wrong. She was wearing an absolutely incredible shade ofmagenta lipstick, and her eye shadow matched. In the tired mid-last-century Formica and rustychrome of the diner, she looked like a deadly, exotic flower, something imported from a place that hadnever seen day. Beautiful, but intimidating. And strange. “Well, at least I know Michael’s not in jail.On the other hand, Shane just loves the gray bar hotel. Maybe it’s the food or something.” But therewas a flash of desperation in her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about Michael. Not at all. Claire felt like something was pressing on her chest, driving all the breath out of her. “I’m notkidding,” she said. “You need to hear this, Eve. About Michael.” It hurt, saying this, physically hurt,and she felt tears tingle in her eyes. She blinked them away, fast. “I think he’s seeing another girl.” Eve had picked up her spoon, and now she sat there, perfectly still, staring. She cocked her glossyblack-haired head slowly over to the side, as if trying to puzzle out what Claire had just said. “Anothergirl,” she said. “What do you mean, another girl?” “A vampire,” Claire said. “Naomi. She came to the house. I saw her. I talked to her. She asked forMichael.” Eve flinched, as if Claire had reached across the table and slapped her, and then said, “But . . . I’m

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sure she’s just . . .” “Just a friend?” Claire said when Eve couldn’t finish. She felt like her heart was breaking. Shecould see the panic and horror in Eve’s face, and the awkward way Eve put the spoon down. Sheclenched her hands together and started twisting her engagement ring.... “Maybe. I guess that’spossible, but you should talk to him, Eve. You should ask. I don’t think he wanted you to know aboutit. He hasn’t told you, has he?” Eve shook her head and looked down at her ice-cream soda, which was slowly melting. “He musthave forgotten to mention it,” she said, but there wasn’t any conviction in her voice. “She came to thehouse?” “A couple of days ago—remember when I went with Shane to give blood? She showed up after youwent upstairs. I answered the door.” This time, it was definitely a flinch, and Eve glanced up. Her eyes were wide, and stricken. “He—hecame upstairs later. We made up. He was—” She twisted the ring again, restlessly. “He was so sorryabout upsetting me.” “Oh,” Claire said softly. “And he didn’t mention her.” “No. Not at all,” Eve admitted. She suddenly flung her hand out across the table, and Claire grabbedit and held on, as if she were pulling Eve back from a cliff. “Oh God. I know Gloriana got inside hishead, but I thought—I thought with her gone . . .” “I know. But, Eve, I know he loves you. I just don’t know—” “If he loves me enough?” Eve laughed, shakily, and picked up a napkin to dab carefully at her eyes,making black blots of wet mascara on the paper. “Yeah, join the club. Well, what do you think?” “It’s not really what I think—it’s what you do.” Eve sniffled and wiped at her nose. “This is ruining my makeup; you know that.” “You can blame me if you want.” “No. No, I don’t.” Eve sighed and looked up, trying for a smile but failing pretty badly. “I’ve knownhe wasn’t totally—comfortable with this, you know? That he kept worrying, and thinking, andworrying . . . and I was just hoping that he’d stop, that it was cold feet, which is pretty stupid becausehe’s a vampire and, you know, cold in general, but—I thought he’d get over it. It’s just gotten worse.” “And he’s not telling you about this girl.” “Apparently. Yeah.” This time, Eve burst out in tears, and covered her face with the napkin. She hadto use both hands, and Claire sat helplessly, wishing she could do something, while Eve bawled like alittle girl. She finally got up and slid over to Eve’s side of the booth and put her arms around her. If the makeup had been extreme before, it was ultra-Goth now, with the dripping lines of mascaraand smears. Eve started wiping it off, going through more and more napkins. Marjo stopped by, took a look at the two of them, shook her head, and grabbed the desserts. Shetook them away and brought back a stack of napkins and a glass of water. “Wash that off,” she said.“You look like a sad clown. Bad for my business.” For Marjo, that was all kinds of concerned and sensitive. Plus, she brought fresh cups of ice cream,for nothing. Eve scrubbed most of her makeup off, leaving herself looking tender and raw and very young, andsucked down a deep breath and said, “I’m okay now. Here, eat your ice cream. There’ll never be abetter time, trust me.” The two of them ate, but Claire wondered if Eve really tasted hers at all. She kept hiccuping back

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sobs. “What are you going to do?” she asked Eve, finally, and her best friend shrugged withoutmeeting her eyes. “Well, pretending everything’s just peachy hasn’t really been the greatest idea,” she said. “I couldgo full-on drama queen and scream and cry and throw things at him, I guess. I would have, a year ago.But now . . . now I think I’ll just go . . . talk to him. I mean, I don’t want to do that. It’s going to hurt.But maybe it’s the best thing for us both if we get it out in the open and . . .” She kept talking, and Claire was listening, really, but the door to the diner opened behind Eve, and aman walked in, and an unnatural, weird feeling came over Claire, as if a wave of mist had washed overher. She blinked and focused on him, trying to figure out why she’d had that reaction—was it coldoutside? Raining? No, it was same as it had been, winter-warm and sunny and dry. Weird. The newcomer wasn’t so much to really notice . . . medium height, medium build, light blond hair.He was turned partly away from her, and from this angle there was nothing at all to distinguish himfrom a million other guys. Then he turned to look their way, and for a second Claire saw . . . something. A flicker, an image, avision. It was too short for her to really even process it, and she could easily have just imagined it,because there wasn’t anything abnormal about this guy at all. He had even, regular features and eyesthat at this distance looked kind of blue. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and walked past them to the counter, and then, without aword, went back outside, where he walked around the corner and vanished. Claire turned to watch him go. “Hey,” Eve said. “Are you with me? Because I’m kind of in the middle of a crisis, here.” Shesounded annoyed, and Claire didn’t blame her. She had no idea why she’d been so distracted. Therewasn’t any reason, none at all. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just—thought I knew him, I guess.” That wasn’t it, but he’d felt somehowwrong. As if he didn’t belong here. “Who?” Eve twisted around. “I didn’t see anybody.” Claire looked out into the parking lot. Nothing stood out there—no out-of-state plates on the cars,for certain. “Nobody, I guess. Maybe he’s just passing through,” she said. “Wish I was,” Eve sighed. “Anywhere else is better right now, including lava pits. Are you ready togo?” “I—Yeah, I guess so.” Claire dug cash from her pocket and paid for both of them, over Eve’s halfhearted protests; Claire got a paycheck (allowance?) from the Founder’s Office for her work withMyrnin, and her bank account had grown to impressive four-digit numbers recently. She didn’t quiteknow what to do with all the money, but spending it on a heartsick best friend seemed like a goodoption. “Home?” “Is there a second choice?” “Well, we could go work on your shopping list?” “That seems pretty dumb, considering.” Claire had to agree with that. As they walked out of the diner, she glanced back, and saw the anonymous man was now back in thediner. He was sitting at a table, hands folded, and he was watching them as they walked to Eve’s bigblack hearse.

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The feeling of misty chill came over her again, and Claire shivered.Shane was standing outside, in the yard, leaning against the single, ragged, winter-stripped tree, whenEve pulled up at the curb. He had his hands in his jeans pockets, and his brown hair ruffled in thebreeze as if invisible hands combed through it. He was staring at the front door, and if he wasn’tcareful, he’d ignite it into flames by the sheer focused power of that stare. Claire jumped out and ran to him, already anxious, with Eve right behind. “What is it?” she asked.“What’s wrong?” Shane jerked his chin at the house. “He’s in there,” he said. “With her.” “Who?” Eve asked, but it sounded as if she already knew. “Did you tell her?” Shane asked Claire. She nodded. “The blonde. Naomi. She showed up; he toldme to leave. I left.” Eve took a deep breath and walked up the steps—not running, not crying. She looked very calm andself-possessed. Claire and Shane exchanged a look, and Shane said, “This can’t be good,” and they ran after her,into the house. They found her almost immediately, standing in the front parlor of the house, the one none of themever used; it was a stuffy sort of room, with furniture left over from the days of black-and-whitetelevision, if not older. But that was where Michael was, sitting on the stiff sofa, with a china cup ofsomething that probably wasn’t tea sitting in front of him. And there was Naomi, sitting on the couch beside him, with her own matching cup. The girl-vamp sat at a ladylike angle, knees together, as if she wore a dress instead of cute skinnyjeans and a figure-hugging top that Claire regretfully kind of liked. Naomi’s chin was up, and her gazewas level on Eve. She didn’t look guilty. She looked a little defiant. Michael, on the other hand, looked deeply uncomfortable. “Eve,” he was saying, “it’s not—” “Like it looks?” she finished for him, very calmly. “Oh, I’m sure.” Eve stepped forward, holdingout her hand. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” Naomi’s eyebrows moved up, just a little, but she rose gracefully and shook Eve’s hand, making itlook as if she were a foreign dignitary performing some alien custom for the sake of diplomacy. “I amNaomi de la Tour. You must be Eve Rosser. Of course, I have seen you about town.” Eve stared straight into her face. “Sorry I can’t say the same. I don’t know you, and I don’tappreciate your being here.” Naomi actually blushed, or at least, there was a hint of color in her cheeks. “I am still becomingused to human company,” she said. “And I do apologize if I seemed rude toward you. I don’t intend tobe.” “Eve—,” Michael said. She shot him a glare, and he settled back on the sofa. Busted. “Maybe we ought to talk about what you do intend,” Eve said, and pulled over a straight-backedchair, which she straddled, putting as strong a difference between herself and Naomi’s oh-so-ladylikepresence as possible. She looked over her shoulder at Shane and Claire. “Out. This could get messy.” “You’re sure you don’t want backup?” Shane asked. Michael frowned. “Against what exactly? Me? C’mon, man.” “On second thought,” Eve said, “maybe they should stay. Any reason they shouldn’t, Michael?”

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“Eve, don’t do this.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy kind of expression. “How long has this been going on?” Michael said nothing. Naomi, on the other hand, leaned forward and said, very earnestly, “I’ve beencoming here for almost two months.” “Really.” Michael shut his eyes and rubbed his temples, as if he had a monster headache. “Eve, you don’t—” “Understand? I’m sure I don’t. Why don’t you tell me? Because finding you all cozied up with ablood-drinking hottie on the couch two days before our engagement party doesn’t send the wrongmessage at all.” “I’m not cozied up with her!” Naomi laughed, just a little. “Indeed, he isn’t,” she said. “If I may explain . . . ?” “Take your best shot,” Eve said. The muscles in her jaws were tight, and she gripped the back of thechair she was straddling so hard that Claire thought she might snap it off—and then stake somebodywith it. “As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s discontent among some of the vampires with the idea that youand Michael should marry,” Naomi said. “There is reason for this.” Eve stared at her in utter silence. Naomi waited for comment, but got nothing. “Not only that,” the girl continued, “I know that human society is not the same as it was when wewere . . . among their numbers, but by our immortal standards a marriage is an alliance, and you, dearEve, are allying yourself to the descendant of an ancient and important bloodline. There are many whobelieve that by marrying you, Michael confers upon you a great deal of . . . power. Implied power, ifnot actual. Giving this to a human is . . . controversial.” “Oh, so you’re just giving us advice. I got it. Nice of you two to involve me in the discussion sothoroughly . . . Oh, wait.” “You think I am lying about my presence here?” Naomi’s perfect eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Donot think it; I beg you. In fact, I have been acting as Michael’s advocate. Your advocate,” Naomi said.“I have standing in the vampire community, and I have been acting as peacemaker, if you will, toallow your marriage to go forward, should you still wish it. I came to tell Michael that I believe myblood-sister Amelie has been persuaded to give her blessing to the union.” Claire cleared her throat. “Oliver just told us there was no way it was going to be allowed tohappen.” “Oliver is my most difficult opponent,” Naomi said. “And he is persuasive, I must admit. I havespent a great many hours trying to convince him of the rightness of my cause, to no good effect. Ifinally decided to go directly to my blood-sister and hope for the best.” Eve was clearly still not buying it. She was staring holes in the other woman, lips compressed into aflat, angry line. Michael said, very quietly, “You think it worked?” “I can’t be completely certain. Amelie is, first and always, a ruler, and a ruler keeps her owncounsel on all things. But she was most gracious and understanding. I believe that I have convincedher of the importance of allowing this union to occur.” “Thank you,” he said, and stood up. A step took him close to where Eve straddled the chair, and herhead tilted to look up at him. She kept the exact same expression. “Do you really think I was screwingaround on you with her?”

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“Why not?” Eve asked flatly. “Vamp girls are hot. Even I can see that.” Naomi blushed again. “I am not interested in Michael in that way,” she said. “I am sorry you thinkme capable of doing something so underhanded. And . . .” She seemed at a loss of what to say for amoment, then looked down at her clasped fingers and said, “And he is not what appeals to me, I amafraid.” “How could he not be your type?” Eve asked, momentarily distracted, and Claire was actuallywondering the same thing because Michael was just . . . yeah. Naomi didn’t answer; she just stared hard at her lap, and Shane was the first one to get it, thoughhow he did, Claire couldn’t really tell. He said, “Because her type is more like you, idiot.” “More like—Goth?” “More like girls.” Naomi glanced up, and Claire caught a flash of relief on her face. “In my youth it was not looked onwith favor,” she said. “It is still difficult for me to speak of it.” “Oh,” Eve said, in an entirely different tone of voice. “Oh. You’re gay.” Naomi nodded slowly. “I could kiss you right now,” Eve said, and then immediately held out a hand. “I mean, in gratitude,you know? You’re really pretty but—Oh man, I just totally screwed that up.” Eve took a deep breathand turned back to Michael. “Did you know she was gay?” “Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t want you to think—I knew there wasn’t anything going on, but I get howit looked, meeting with her in private. I should have told you. I just didn’t want you to know howmuch resistance there was against the wedding.” “Oh,” Eve said softly. “Oh.” Her eyes were shining now, and Michael’s smile was one of the mostlovely things Claire had ever seen. Free of all the burden she’d seen in him over the past few weeks.Free of the guilt. And now, there was something completely right in it. “You idiot. You could havetold me.” “Yeah, I know.” He stood up and went to her, and took her hand. “I love you. I didn’t want to thinkthat—that I could lose you over this. Over not being able to get Amelie to agree.” “Idiot,” Eve repeated, but she didn’t mean it. She stood up and melted into his arms, and it lookedlike they never intended to let go of each other, ever again. “So it’s all good.” Naomi was smiling at the two of them, but now a shadow seemed to come over her face. “I hopethat is true. I do worry that if the human population continues to agitate, Amelie will take the side ofOliver’s cause, and not mine. But I cannot help that. Perhaps you can ... ?” “I’m not exactly Miss Popularity out there,” Eve said. “But luckily, I’ve got someone everybodyrespects on my team . . . everybody on both sides of the blood line.” And she looked at Claire and raised her eyebrows. “Oh, wait a minute,” Claire said. Shane put his arms around her from behind. Even if she wanted toescape, he wasn’t going to let her. “How exactly am I supposed to convince people it’s all okay?” “Facebook?” Shane said, straight-faced. “Flyers on phone poles,” Eve said. “Invite them to the party,” Michael said. Claire blinked and looked at him, head cocked. “What did you say?” “Invite them to the party. It’s like if you’re having a gigantic house party—invite your neighborsover, and they’re not as likely to blow the whistle on you. Well, invite the humans in Morganville and

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give them the chance to really get to know the vampires. Show them it can work.” “Dude,” Shane said seriously, “that just cannot end well.” “No, it could work,” Naomi said. “There are precedents. And you were planning to invite bothhumans and vampires in any case, were you not?” Eve nodded, still looking a little uncertain. “But—look, there are some bad feelings around here.Human pride, and all that stuff. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to put vamps, humans, and alcohol all inthe same place.” “Well,” Naomi said cheerfully, “what’s the worst that can happen?” They were silent, considering that, because there were just so They were silent, considering that, because there were just so many possibilities. But in the end, it was a better idea than Facebook.“What’s this?” The man on the other side of the counter at the camera store scowled at hermistrustfully, but he took the paper that Claire handed him. It was a nice, colorful poster, advertisingthe engagement party being held outside at Founder’s Square. “Could you maybe put it up in the window of your store?” she asked, and gave him her best, mostconfident smile. “It’s going to be a great party. I know your customers would like to be there. It’sfree!” He stared at her. Claire didn’t know him; he was an older man, graying at the temples, and he had asquare, stubborn kind of face. His sleeves were rolled back to the elbows, and she saw a fresh staketattoo on the inside of his right forearm. “You’re that girl,” he said, and she was almost sure he’dcontinue, The vampires’ pet. She’d heard that a few times today. “The one the Collins kid is dating.” Oh. Right. Shane had antivampire street cred. “That’s right,” she said. “I’m Shane’s girlfriend.” “Frank said you were all right.” Great, now she had Shane’s dad as an endorsement.... Well, anything that would help, she’d take it.“That was nice of him.” She managed not to make it sound like an indictment on the whole FrankCollins issue. Water under the bridge, and all that stuff. “Would you mind putting it up for me?” “You know this ain’t going to end well, right?” He rattled the paper at her. “Glass and the humangirl. I’m sorry the kid got turned, but he’s one of them now. No coming back over that line.” She was tired of the argument. “Thanks for your time,” she said. “I appreciate you thinking aboutit.” He grunted. “I guess I’ll put it up. Don’t expect me to show up, though.” “Free drinks?” That actually earned her a smile. A small one. “Well, you drive a hard bargain, kid. Be careful outthere.” “You, too.” She walked out, and Shane fell in step beside her. He had a handful of flyers, but fewer than therehad been. “So, was that fun?” he asked. “Kind of an antivamp stronghold, there. Captain Obvious usedto be a good friend of the manager.” Captain Obvious had once been a figurehead of the antivampireunderground, but he was now permanently underground, in the six-feet-under sense. Nobody had yetstepped forward to take up his masked identity, as far as Claire knew—not that she would have been inon the antivampire memo chain. “He give you any trouble?”

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“Not once I pointed out there would be free booze.” “Too easy,” Shane said. “How are you planning to keep the frat boys out?” That, Claire had realized early on, was going to be a problem. . . . The Texas Prairie Universitycampus was its own little world, a microcosm inside Morganville’s strange alternate reality. And oncampus, few people really knew about the vampire world outside. Keeping the frat boys on campus,instead of searching for a free drunk, was a challenge, and one that required absolute attention. Therehad been too many near misses already. “I talked to Chief Moses,” she said. “She said the policewould be checking IDs. No town resident card, you don’t get into the square at all. That should keepthe aspiring partyers out.” “You hope. So, who else we have left?” They’d covered almost all of their particular sector of Morganville; Michael had taken the morevampire-centric neighborhoods this morning, and Eve had braved it with him, trying to show thevampires she could be well behaved and perfectly acceptable. By common consent, they’d all decidedthat Claire and Shane had the reputations to win over unwilling humans, or at least get them to listen. They’d been about seventy percent successful, which was better than Claire had expected, but it hadbeen a long day, and her feet hurt. “We should hit it tomorrow,” she said. “I need to lay down.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she swatted his shoulder. “Rest,” she said. “Well, we could rest together. I swear, I’ll be good.” He gave her a charming, intensely hot smile.“You can take that any way you want.” So many levels to that, she got dizzy trying to sort them out. But it warmed her, and made the walkhome less of a trial . . . at least, until her cell phone rang. The ringtone was a dead giveaway, emphasison dead . . . creepy organ music. She didn’t even have to glance at the image of fanged bunny slipperson the screen to know who was calling. She just sighed, thumbed it on, and held it to her ear. “Claire! I need you here immediately. Something’s wrong with Bob.” Myrnin, her mad-scientist,blood-addicted boss, sounded actually shaken. “I can’t get him to eat his insects, and I used hisfavorites. He just sits there.” “Bob,” she repeated, looking at Shane in wide-eyed disbelief. “Bob the spider.” “Just because he’s a spider doesn’t mean he deserves any less concern! Claire, you have a way withhim. He likes you.” Just what she needed. Bob the spider liked her. “You do realize that he’s a year old, at least. Andspiders don’t live that long.” “You think he’s dead?” Myrnin sounded horrified. So wrong. “Is he curled up?” “No. He’s just quiet.” “Well, maybe he’s not hungry.” “Will you come?” Myrnin asked. He sounded calmer now, but also oddly needy. “It’s been verylonely here these past few days. I’d like your company, at least for a little while.” When she hesitated,he used the pity card. “Please, Claire.” “Fine,” she sighed. “I’m bringing Shane.” After a second of silence, he said, flatly, “Goody,” and hung up. “You’re kidding,” Shane said. “Do you think I want to visit Crazy McTeeth in his lair of insanity?” “No,” Claire said, “but I’m pretty sure you won’t like it if I go alone when I just kind of promised tobe with you. So . . . ?”